Seventh Regret Whats One More?
by Kris1907
Summary: Part 2 of 4. The Seventh Regret series takes John/Marlena through a reunion and the bittersweet conversation of 'What if' In this story, John left town in 93, rather than Marlena stopping him on the plane, years later they bump into each other.


_What's One More?_

By: Krista Chapman

"… is the purely logical human behavioral element that once you start sinning, you can't stop. It becomes the simplest way out of any remotely complicated issue. Humans run. Humans hide. Therefore, Humans sin for they know not how to right the complex wrongs of their world. There are no solutions. As an intellectual race we…"

Howard Hawkes

1943

How in the hell does anybody live here? I reach up to readjust my cap after another brutal shouldering by some unknown blur that I think was human. Never spent much time here- will always get lost. Hundreds of streets, each look the same, never know which way to walk and this damn crowd doesn't give you the five seconds needed to figure it out. Strike that. You aren't walking. You are literally being carried by this no bullshit and no questions mob. It never slows down. It never lightens up. It just is… constant. God-damn city that honestly never sleeps.

I side-step a few times, duck under a 4 by 4 waltzing uncaringly down the street and finally turn the corner off of Time Square. God, not sure I can ever say that its pretty with all that chaos. This is nuts! No other way to put it. People everywhere- cars everywhere- its hotter than hell- the smell alone is deadly and the smog… how do people breathe? They must grow new lungs- no other way.

Two blocks, four pushes and twelve coughs later I see the theatre. I may have lost my hometown feeling but Nashville has not created an impossibly large city vibe within me. Not even close. Like to walk down a street. This is a freakin maze! A hideously grotesque one at that.

I step to the edge of the curb- out of the way- and look up. Its mid afternoon, sun still full blast and the theatre looks so quiet- almost run down. Last night it was bright and beautiful. New York City day and New York City night are two very separate things. Its so ugly and congested during the day. The magic comes at night. The magic is in those light bulbs.

Why do lights create magic? Must just be the contrast between the dark night and the twinkling lights. Like Christmas morning. Its just a morning, yet, so completely different than all the others.

Her name is right there. Trisha Yearwood spelled out in black. Right now its nothing. Blends with everything else. Last night it was screaming for people to look. Now her pictures are barely noticeable- dark under the flap… as if it were gone and forgotten. Give it a couple of hours and it will be screaming life again but… the difference just can't be expressed. The lifelessness, the emptiness… perhaps I shouldn't have come back around. Perhaps its unfair to her… to me. I took the life out of it by returning. By seeing it this way. Seeing it dead. Is that what I wanted to do? Needed to show myself that it isn't always bright, cheery, brilliant and simply incredible. Damn… it really is just such a different life.

I'm use to one place for one night- perhaps two if its cool. Name flashes and is then taken down. No big fuss within the sign. They know you are coming or they don't. You know if you have any care to attend. No need to advertise with a damn sign. She was use to that too…

But here, here its consistent- permanent. Its her place. Becomes a fixture for people here, so there is nothing exciting about it all. They walk by these theatres constantly- names come… stay… and then go. They don't blink. A new name can't possibly mean anything to them. It should. It should because its about to become a fixture of their world. Something that will stay. Yet, they pay no attention or do they?

I stand back within the overhang and watch the people pass by. All with their heads up and focused straight ahead. A few on cells, a few chatting with a friend but all eyes are straight ahead. Nobody looks up. Perhaps I just want to believe that this isn't her life. That these people aren't good enough but… they ain't even looking up.

They should blink. They should stop. They should learn the new things that they see before them. I know that they don't realize the talent or more importantly the woman that lays behind those letters. The road did. Those one night flashing signs expressed the woman- the singer. This doesn't. Its just black letters. Not even cool black letters.

Hell, nobody even turns their heads to glance momentarily at the photos. Its not like they are little and it would take effort to peer at them. All you have to do is look. Turn your head slightly. Yet, not even the gorgeous one of her in a bold, rather risqué red dress gets an eye.

Not sure why I needed to come back. Had some interviews… that's why I am here here. There were spaces so caught a few shows- this one last night- and all were awesome. Do love a good show. But why am I standing here? Why is this the meeting place? What compelled me to add this to the list of 'must see one last time'? If anybody knows, please let me know. I could use the help. Any help.

I sigh for I need a lot of help it seems.

I see a lull in the traffic and do an awkward half jog across the literally steaming pavement. I check my watch. What time did we say? Yeah… I'm right on time. Had to skip the antique shop because I spent too long chatting this morning. Getting coffee became a complication. What's the odds I would run into the only country fan in this multi-million bodied city? Only me.

But yeah, my point. Had to skip my shop- one less candle stick I guess. I will survive, I'm sure. But I am on time. Positive of it. Probably running late. That's all. Normal for her. Like I should talk. But man, I really wish she would hurry up. Perhaps I can wait down the road… or back across the street even. Keep an eye open from a distance. Feel like an ass standing here.

My eyes go back up to the billboard. Trisha Yearwood. Black. Bold. New York Time's review of her heart-wrenching voice is right on. "Captivating." Yes, but so much more so. So much more. No mention of her solo career- of her country roots. One would have to read the articles plastered to particular parts of this place to find that out. And then its random newspapers and magazines saying the same quick sentence about her life as an award winning country artist. As if that is an everyday accomplishment. Mentioning Bruce, his career, her connections and how her and Ela are one of the few mother-daughter pairs to ever grace the centre stage together.

I dunno. Should be in bold letters. "County Music Sensation…" Crapass black letters should include that. Be proud of where she came from. Be proud of what she is made of. That never disappears and in the end that is all you have. Why is she running away from it? Why hurt yourself that way? She has finally gotten to the place she always wanted to try, but to what expense? What has she lost? Too much in my opinion. Just too damn much.

Or perhaps its me who has lost too much.

I cross my arms and keep looking- I don't know what I except to find in these black letters created by one person and put up by another- nothing to do with her, yet, I'm searching. Standing in the middle of one of the few sidewalks that aren't crammed with people, thumbs moving back to my pockets and staring. People probably think I'm illiterate. But instead, just a guy on an impossible search. Always looking and wanting something that is not there. Perhaps this isn't about the industry. Perhaps it is about her. Those black letters just might be saying so much about the Trisha Yearwood of today and I just can't bare it. Therefore, I blame is on everything else… everyone else.

A small smile begins to form. She's behind me. I can just feel it. Ever had that feeling? When you know somebody so well that you can just feel their presence. Probably not. Probably think I am nuts. Hell, I usually think I've lost it. Yet I am so sure of myself that I actually speak, "Impressive."

If she is shocked that I realized that she was there, her voice doesn't betray it, "Thank you. Still getting use to it."

"And congratulations on its success. Well deserved."

"Getting use to that too."

I turn to finally greet her, "Nah, you always soaked in the praise. A big head suits you."

"Gee thanks… I think." Her baffled chuckle makes me smile. A silence surrounds us. Just like the year before. So much to say and just no where to begin. Can't even pick a point because you'll lack the needed details to understand.

I get a thought- mouth opens and then I see Ela sprinting foreword, "Mom, got the last muffin!" By watching her eyes, I see that she ignores her mother's comment of 'You always do' as she stops and looks my way- who I am finally registering. "Hello Mr. Brooks." Picking at the muffin top, "Cool shirt."

I look down at the shirt before sending a "Thank you" her way. Why do people look? Do you not remember what you are wearing? I know I am wearing my Billy Joel concert shirt to show my age. Why did I look? Must be because they are looking and verbally acknowledging my shirt so I have to look to. Its just natural. You don't think, 'Oh I should look too.' You just do. Yeah, its natural. Glad she likes it.

"Nice to see you again Ms. Ela. Have a few extras hanging around if you'd like one."

"For real?" She crosses her arms, careful not to hurt her, what looks to be a, blueberry muffin, "Let me guess, your friends with the Billy Joel."

"The Billy Joel huh? I call him Billy." I get a young adult's 'ugh' look. I just smile at her. "I am privileged enough to know the man and can hook you up. Let you be cool. So how are you doing?"

She pops a piece of muffin into her mouth, while chewing, "Good." Her slim throat makes it very noticeable to see it go down, "We did as you said and now," The smile can't be hidden, "I'm in a show with mom! It's a total blast."

"Total blast?"

"Totally!"

Trisha joins in with my laughter- a pre-teens vocabulary. Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand. I see Trish out of the corner of my eye and she, too, is smiling down at her daughter.

"Not a bummer to be with your mom all the time?"

"Hey!" I get a light smack from the insulted mom but the child doesn't seem affected or worried about answering. "Umm… not so bad. Could be worse. But can't fool around. Everybody knows who dad is and since mom is the star…" She shrugs, "I get treated different at times. But I do love it."

"I can tell. I…" I bend slightly to be more eye level with her, "I think you are brilliant. Even when tripping over furniture."

Her eyes light up, "You came last night!?"

Straightening, "Well, I couldn't miss seeing you show off your talents. And girl, you've got talent! That stage is yours. You own it." I watch the proud feeling wash over her face and I can't help but add, "But fire the furniture."

She smiles, a true smile that brightens her face, its Trisha. I never noticed any Trish within her daughter but her eyes, but there is no mistaking it. That's her smile. "You thought I was good? Yeah! So cool! Mom, did you hear that? The man who knows the Billy Joel said I was good. Alright!" Not waiting for her mom's response she turns back to me with a very serious look, "Do you think I can make a CD then?" She pops another piece of muffin as if she simply asked me if I think it is going to rain. Love the way kids look at the world, "Want a piece?"

"Thank you." Plucking off a small piece, I toss it into the air and catch it in my mouth.

"Cool!" She giggles out while her mother just shakes her head, "Still so proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"Hey, I went through a lot of M&M's learning how… still finding them all over the bus." My hand goes behind my neck, itching and then nervously playing with the tag. Now where to go?

"Okay, think I got it." Ela tosses up a rather blueberry piece and clumsily catches it on her tongue.

"Impressive. Took me a couple months. Took you half of a muffin. Thanks for the ego boost there."

She smiles cheekily at me, "So… could I make a CD?"

"You didn't forget huh?"

"I'm a kid. Its my job not to."

That's very true… "You got a point there. Well mom. What is your opinion on this?"

"Oh no no… not bringing me into this all. I live with her. And well, she asked you."

"Thanks a lot." So not helpful there Trish. So not helpful. "Well my girl, umm… I would say that you have it in you. But… umm… you have the country sole in you actually. Not Pop and not Broadway. The CD would have to be true country- not sure if that is what you wanted to hear."

"Like mom was?"

Was. She said was. I sure hope not because then country would have lost one of their best singers. Would be a tragic loss. A blow that I'm not sure we would ever truly recover from. Similar to the loss of Patsy and Tammy. Trisha could be in that line. Should be. Perhaps is or at the very least was on her way to being. Losing her completely would crumble a certain integrity that we are trying desperately to build back up. But then again, perhaps we've already lost her and I just refuse to believe it. If that's true, I'm still not ready to.

"Like your mom is." I pat her nose and continue, "I think you would make a wonderful new generation of country singers. Make your own mark with the business. But ya got some time. Can talk to my daughter."

"She is making a CD?"

Trisha turns towards me quickly, "Taylor is making an album?"

"Wow… rushing. She is taking a step towards it."

"That's incredible! I heard all the wonderful reviews of her from the tour. Just… wow. Sorry I didn't get to hear her."

I look down sadly, "Me too. But you'll get a shot sometime. I don't think she is going to shut that mouth anytime soon. At least… God, I hope not."

"She won't." There is that smart-ass smirk, "She's Garth Brooks's daughter afterall. No way she could ever learn to shut her mouth."

"Ouch!" I clutch my chest in mock pain. "That hurt. I know how to shut my mouth. Once in awhile. Umm.. Yeah. When its important enough."

Another laugh. On a roll here. "Ela, honey, you better get in there. You're first."

"Oh yeah. I am, I guess. Awesome to see you again Mr. Brooks. Like to meet Taylor- maybe I can be her backup singer! Yeah, that would be totally cool."

"She'd probably think so too. I'll let her know."

She looks down at her feet, shuffling, a motion her mother does when she doesn't really want to leave, "I gotta go. Could you have dinner with us?"

"Leave it to my daughter to remember manners, so yeah, busy tonight? How long are you here for?"

"Actually leaving… soon. This was my last stop."

It dawns on her what that means. I never planned on getting in touch with her while I was here. Saw the show. Cheered. But didn't stick around long enough to say 'hi' at stage door. I'm a jerk. But as long as you know you are one, its not so bad.

"Ela, better get in there. Will be right behind you."

"Okay. Sorry you couldn't stay longer. And thank you."

"For?"

She smiles, "Garth Brooks said I had talent. Bet nobody else in there can say that."

"You are so sweet. But that you do. I'll see you again soon."

She nods and begins the short trek to the stage door. Just before she pulls it open, "Oh yeah! I remembered what you said."

Totally confused, "What's that?"

"I feel it in here." She points to her heart, "I feel it every night and I've never gone wrong. Bye!"

With that she disappears within the heavy doors. Wow. She remembered. No eight year old remembers profound statements from an unknown adult.

"Thank you, Garth."

"Now why are you thanking me?"

"She looks up to you. Your music, your writing, and your love of it all. Caused issues but she stayed true."

"Caused issues? How so?"

"Nevermind. Doesn't matter. But--"

I cut in, "No wait. Caused issues by looking up to me?"

The "Yeah" that comes from her lips is so soft that had I not been staring at them, I never would have known she spoke. "Its over with now. I just wanted you to know how much your words meant to her."

"I saw it in her eyes. Her face doesn't always show what she is feeling… but her eyes give her away. Just like yours and because of that, I know it means that Bruce didn't want her to look up to me. Not good enough and I don't blame him."

Looking at the ground, "If that were only it. But Bruce has his show now and we have ours. Piecing things together… slowly."

I know that she means her life- her life after divorce. Trisha has never been without a male by her side since she was born and I know this is all new, all exciting and all terrifying as hell for her. But she looks good.

"Are you happy here, Trish? That's all I need to know."

Her eyes meet mine- completely stare back at me for the first time, "I am happy. Its all very new. Different but I needed a change."

I nod. I guess that is it then. She was able to look me in the eyes and say that she is happy. I have nothing more here.

"Not that I want you to go, but your name is in black letters for a reason. Don't want to keep you from rehearsal."

"Yeah… probably right. Should get moving." She lets out a heavy sigh. This is hard on both of us. She must be feeling the same thing that I am- we are cheating ourselves again. Cheating ourselves of the time, the openness and the conversation that we deserve. God, a decade ago would we have ever thought we'd be standing here as strangers rather than best friends? I know I never saw it coming. I hope to God that she didn't either. Days just quickly turn into weeks and those weeks roll right into months… and then those pile up into years… amazing…

I feel very much like those black letter on the billboard- pointless, overlooked and silent. We both lack the light and the electricity to turn heads.

Both too chicken.

I pull her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her tightly, "Enjoy this and though it may not seem like it, I'm here for you whenever. Just call." I pull back but don't remove my hands quite yet, instead one brushes that naturally defiant strand of hair from her eyes, "Just promise me one thing sweetie, do what is best for you and that little girl of yours. Please don't settle anymore… and don't force yourself to be happy. This is your chance- your time. Shine as bright as this billboard did last night, okay?"

I see a bittersweet look take over her features. She's not going to cry- I assume she is just trying to deal with the onslaught of images and feelings that those words have created. Words I spoke to her well over a decade ago. The night after her name made it into lights for the first time. What a ride its been.

"I will. Promise."

"Thank you. Now get. Hate for you to get in trouble because of me."

She takes my hands from her shoulders and squeezes them tightly before letting go. "Yeah, you've gotten me in trouble enough for my lifetime thank you. But please don't be a stranger… and next time, don't hide. Love to have dinner or introduce you to the cast."

Wasn't hiding. Just wasn't standing in plain sight- that's all. Nothing wrong with that. I have no reason to hide. Hell, was standing in the middle of the side walk looking illiterate. That's not hiding, is it? Just didn't want to interrupt her new life. No use bringing in some of the old. She told me herself that there was nothing worse in a brand new, completely redone room than the old furniture. That has to apply to people too.

Besides, what would one dinner do anyways? Just distance us further. Just make us realize how little we know about the other anymore. I don't want that. Would rather be disillusioned I think.

Positive of it.

"Next time, I'll let ya know. Then you can lead me through this smoggy maze. Do less walking if I didn't have to backtrack every ten steps."

She laughs at me and pats my arm, starting to move towards the door. "Very true. Was really… really great seeing you again Garth. Missed you. I always do." There is the glint, the brief flicker in her eyes that I was looking for. She hasn't let go of everything. "Besides, Marsha, well lets just say that she is going to flip when I mention that you were at the show and just standing outside stage door. She's a huge fan of yours cowboy."

Now there is a sentence for you. Cowboy… just like old times. Yet, the mentioning of a member of her new group. Wants me to meet the cast. Yeah well… do remember a time when I was part of that cast. Johnny, Chris, Steve, Vince… the gang. Okay, I'm bitter. So sue me. I am having an old-fart 'why did life have to change' moment and those are allowed on occasions. I get over them. Just takes a moment.

"Well, give her a hug for me and I will try to make it back around soon. And it was great seeing you again." I lean in and kiss her cheek quickly, "See ya."

With a small hand gesture, "Bye…" So soft. So final.

She heads towards the doors as a figure catches my eye coming across the street. "Hey hun. Got everything done?"

"I do think so. Even got us some not-so healthy food for the ride. Sorry I'm late. Kath and I just got going and then this lady went off about meeting Garth Brooks while getting coffee… she was rather cute. So had to chat with her."

"Yeah, met my one New York fan. What's the odds?"

We both laugh as I place my arm around her and begin the walk down the street. My eye catches a final glimpse of Trish as she disappears behind the metal door. Each step I take, takes me further away from those black, bold and unfeeling letters. Kind of happy to get away.

We reach the corner and while waiting for the sign to state 'walk', my eyes are diverted up to the giant posters lining the buildings. One states, "For the first time in two decades, Real life mother and daughter take centre stage to tell the tale of love and tragedy with a hope that rises from the ashes."

Such a good picture of the two of them. The green person flashing and the movement of the crowd forces me to watch where I am going rather than study images from above. The two smile down upon me as we walk along side the building and away from the theatre. Walking away again has to be the eighth one in my life.

I stop and look up one last time. I'm on the curb and am craning my neck. It's a horrible angle but I see the smiles. 'Hope that rises from the ashes.'

Maybe. If I turn back…

I take the bag from Marie and peek inside as we head towards the hotel.

What the hell… its just one more. No big deal… right?

What's one more?


End file.
